


Octrabbles

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [20]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Drabble, M/M, References to Depression, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-24 09:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16172225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Drabbles set in the 'by any other name' verse for the month of October.





	1. Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge used to volunteer at the Y more often

* * *

Edge used to volunteer at the Y more often, spending nearly every day there after work. He’d cut back considerably when he and Stretch actually began dating, and these days he had a standing appointment on Wednesdays, with occasional weekends for special events.

Currently, he had an assigned group for whom he played the role of ‘big brother’, Human children ranging from ten to twelve, right at an age where they were just becoming their most resentful and prickly. That was fine by him; once they’d grown accustomed to him and the knowledge that not only wasn’t he going to take their bullshit, he also wasn’t going to leave them, he was left with children simply being children, ones that oh, so rarely allowed him to see them at their most emotionally vulnerable.

They occasionally reminded him of his own brother.

After work on Wednesdays, he went home to change and eat a quick dinner with Stretch, Wednesdays being their designated omelet day, and today was no different, although the sight that greeted him when he walked into their kitchen gave him pause.

The table looked like a craft store had exploded on it. Brightly colored ribbon and cellophane, all in the shades of autumn were scattered over it, along with opened grocery store bags with candy spilling out of them. At the end of the table, the crafty King over his sugary subjects, Stretch was carefully scraping scissors down a length of ribbon, coaxing it to curl. He set it the finished bag with a group of others like it.

“And what are you up to?” Edge picked up one of the handmade bags. It was filled with a variety of candies.

“i’m making halloween bags for you to take to your group at the y!” Stretch told him happily, clipping the ribbon on another bag. “when i called the director, he said you had twelve kids in your group right now. i wanted to make sure that no one had any allergies or anything, but just to be sure, nothing has peanut butter or nuts. wouldn’t call them allergy-free, but i’ll take my ‘you tried’ pin.”

“I see that,” Edge murmured. Each bag was heavy with treats; mini-candy bars and gumballs, and plenty of the sour candy that so many children liked. There was one candy that declared it would stain their teeth bloody ‘like a vampire!’, which seemed like exactly the one to urge them to eat first, so it would wear off before they went home.

Cellophane crinkled as Stretch hesitated, a half-filled bag in his hands.

“i mean, if it’s okay?” Stretch asked uncertainly. “maybe they’d think it was stupid? i thought it would be nice for them but if you think it’s a bad idea—”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Edge interrupted him, even as he felt a faint pang in his soul. It was difficult to forgive himself for past cruelties when he had to see how, even years later, Stretch had little confidence in any ideas he came up with for his kids. “Would you like me to take them tonight?”

He didn’t invite Stretch to bring them himself, knowing that they might very well mock the gift when it was first given to them even with Edge glaring them down; children could be cruel, but he was certain that each and every one of them would be happy for the treats, even secretly.

“if you want,” Stretch said, diffidently. As though somehow Edge could miss the quiet delight that lit in his eye lights.

Edge frowned suddenly. “That is far more than twelve bags.” Far, far more. Edge counted to thirty before he stopped and there were plenty left. 

“yeah, i know,” Stretch coughed, suddenly very intent in the ribbon knot he was tying. “but i had a lot of stuff left over so i went with it. figured i’d hand some out to the monster kids—"

“You mean your minions?” Edge asked dryly.

“or maybe you could take extras? someone else’s group might like them.”

“I think they would.” Edge dropped a kiss on top of Stretch’s skull. “Finish up and we’ll have dinner before I leave.”

“okay. better make sure you take an extra for you,” Stretch told him slyly, “maybe it’ll sweeten your disposition.”

“It’s more likely to sour me on your jokes,” Edge sighed, opening the fridge and taking out a container of pastel eggs. Omelets for dinner and then he would see what his group made of their gift.

At the very least, he figured he was in for a few amusing minutes of gruesomely ‘bloody’ teeth and Edge made a mental note to take a group picture of it to send to Stretch.

It would definitely be a worthy thank you. 

-fin


	2. Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s too early for decorations

* * *

Stretch looked at the twisted, smoking pile of plastic and fabric at his feet. The stench of burning synthetics was strong and unpleasant, wires sparking as they melted into goo.

Not fifteen minutes ago, it had been ‘flying grim reaper with glowing eyes and electronic laugh,’ and now it was sort of a poor re-enactment of the Wicked Witch of the West. It was slightly disappointing.

Next to him, Edge was also looking at the remains. His eye lights were still overly bright, magic crackling agitatedly at his fingertips. “This is not my fault.”

Stretch poked the remains of the reaper with his toe. It made a last, gurgling laugh that trailed into a garbled moan of electronics and then collapsed. “i’m pretty sure this is entirely your fault.”

“It came flying out of a tree at me!”

“it was supposed to. well, not at you specifically, at the trick or treaters,” he waved at their yard, liberally scattered with pumpkins, fake tombstones, and zombie flamingoes. “the rest of the decorations didn’t clue you in?”

Edge scowled at him. “I’ll buy you another one.”

“um, yeah, i’m thinking maybe something else would be better. it was only fifty bucks, so i got my money’s worth.”

Edge picked up his briefcase from where it had ended up after he’d thrown it, dusting it off. “It was worth fifty dollars just to startle me?”

It wasn’t easy for a skeleton to snort, but Stretch gave it his best shot. “startled? babe, i didn’t know you could hit that octave. i’m betting they heard that scream at the embassy.” He shook his head. “remind me to start wearing a bell. but, yeah, that’s not worth fifty bucks.” He held up his phone with a grin. “now, the video i got…”

He waggled his fingers in a goodbye even as he easily dodged when Edge lunged for his phone.

“Give me that, you—“ The rest was left behind as Stretch shortcutted away.

He chuckled as he watched the video again before saving it to a private folder and locking it. There was no way he was showing that to anyone, but there was no reason for Edge to know that.

At least not until he’d given Stretch a treat for his trick and, knowing Edge, Stretch was sure he’d think of something.

 

-fin


	3. For a Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the October theme, isn’t one of the best parts of Halloween getting to be someone else who is super cool for a day?

* * *

On Saturdays, Edge often enjoyed baking and wasn’t particular about what he made. Cookies, pies, breads and scones. All of it was soothing in its own way. Today, in deference to the month, he was making pumpkin cookies alongside regular chocolate chip. Stretch had a craving for anything pumpkin that far exceeded Edge’s tolerance.

In fact, it was only when the last batch came out of the oven that a trickle of suspicion went through him. The smell of baking cookies should have permeated the entire house and yet, Stretch hadn’t tried to sneak one while they were still warm, pumpkin or otherwise.

He left the dishes to soak and went in search of possible trouble.

Stretch wasn’t napping on the sofa or in their room; not unexpected, his internal cookie radar would have awoken him. He also wasn’t in the backyard letting the chickens get some exercise while he took too many pictures of them scuffling through the leaves, which had been a favored pastime all week.

He shouldn’t be in his lab, he had a self-imposed exile on it over the weekend, since he’d spend the entire day there if inspiration struck.

One last place to check and then Edge would send him a text.

When he opened the front door and heard childish giggles, he knew Stretch had been found. Edge leaned against the door jamb and took in the scene in front of him.

Stretch was sitting in a folding chair with a table next to him covered with paint pots and brushes. Above him was a banner that declared in broad, swooping letters, ‘be a skeleton for a day!’

There were at least ten children in line and Stretch was diligently painting the face of the child in front of him, his tongue poking out in concentration.

Edge shook his head and walked over to them. “Having fun?”

A chorus of cheers rose from the children but Stretch didn’t look up. “sorry, important business here, right, kid?”

The kid in question hummed in happy agreement but didn’t move. At Stretch’s elbow was a printed tutorial of ‘how to paint a skeleton face’. Edge picked it up.

“You have a skeleton face of your own. You look at mine every day and you still needed directions?”

“makeup tutorials for humans are like, a quarter of youtube. i don’t see you bitching about those.”

A renewed chant of gleeful shock came from their miniature Greek chorus over the use of a ‘bad word.’”

Stretch winced, “sorry, guys, don’t say that in front of your folks or we’ll never get to do the next kool-aid experiment.”

Kool-aid experiment? Edge firmly decided that the less information about that, the better.

“there!” With a last flourish, Stretch leaned back and his latest skeleton beamed up at him.

“Is it good?” he asked eagerly.

“see for yourself!” Stretch picked up his phone and snapped a quick picture, then showed it to him. “you are a fantastic skeleton, i should know. i’ve been one all my life.”

“Very good,” Edge agreed. “You do realize Halloween is weeks away?”

The child gave him a stern look, all the more amusing from the face of a painted skeleton. “It is always cool to be a skeleton, Mister Edge Sir.”

Edge nodded solemnly. “I stand corrected.”

“okay, kid, you’re done,” Stretch told him and he scampered off, calling back to them.

“Thank you Mister Papyrus Stretch Sir!”

“it’s still just stretch,” he called back. Edge raised a brow bone at him. “don’t look at me, i don’t know where he got that.” He picked up a pen and checked off a name on a list before gesturing to the next child, who was squirming with eagerness.

“What’s this?” Edge picked it up.

“kids whose parents said i could post their picture on social media,” Stretch murmured. “didn’t want to do it without asking but asgore loves it when i post this shi—stuff. figured he could get his kicks and no one would get upset.”

“That was…very thoughtful of you.”

“thanks for saying that with the minimum of surprise,” Stretch grinned then turned his attention to his next victim. “okay, kid, what’s it gonna be?”

“Can I have a flower on my cheek, too?” the child asked shyly.

“absolutely! skeletons love flowers, don’t they, edgelord.”

“Absolutely,” Edge deadpanned. He pulled out the second chair and selected a brush. “Would anyone like me to paint their face?”

“there we go guys, any grumpy skeletons to the right,” Stretch laughed. The children laughed with him and Edge rolled his eye lights, but soon his own victim was standing before him.

“Can I be extra grumpy like you?” The child asked excitedly.

Edge held back a smile with superior effort. “I’ll do my best.”

He didn’t do a bad job, but Stretch was right. It was easier with a reference and his lover wasn’t nearly grumpy enough to qualify.

-fin


	4. Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One should always be wary of unexpected gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today is my birthday but it’s all of you who get a gift! Sort of, this is complete and total indulgence and sap, which is what my fannish heart is craving. I’m either sharing it or inflicting it on you, whatever your preference. *G*

* * *

That morning when Stretch came downstairs, there was a wrapped box sitting on the coffee table.

He paused, still on the steps, and looked at it. Taking in the sight. It was large and flat, wrapped in purple paper covered in sparkly spider webs. Black ribbons decorated it with foil bats and skulls dangling.

He had to give Edge credit, he had style.

Temptation was a vicious beast but Stretch resisted it and went outside to take care of the chickens first. He got a coffee next, taking the last dregs of the pot Edge had made hours ago and putting in plenty of sugar to counter the burnt taste. Only then did he sit on the sofa to study his gift again.

There was no card, which was dirty pool in his opinion. A card would have given him a hint as to the mood this gift had been inspired by. An ‘I love you’ or maybe a sappy 'you make my soul complete’. You know, the good shit.

A silly pun meant that maybe it was a prank gift. Even an 'Olive you so much!’. Edge was a hell of a lot funnier than he got credit for, in Stretch’s opinion.

Welp, there was only one way to find out, then. Carefully, he untied the ribbon and laid it aside, since it was pretty cool and would probably find its way into their decorations. The paper he gave less care, tearing it away. It covered a plain black box with an insignia he didn’t recognize. Okay, then. Cautiously, he lifted the lid.

He took a long moment to stare at the contents and then got his phone.

_u shit._

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

_Does it fit?_

Stretch set aside his phone and lifted the suit out with reverent hands. It wasn’t some Halloween USA store tissue paper junk; the fabric felt like it was fucking silk, and it probably was, knowing Edge. He stripped in the middle of the living room, carelessly tossing his clothes aside. The tie gave him a little pause but one youtube video later and he was set.

He posed dramatically and sent Edge the picture.

_how do i look?_

_Like a Pumpkin King._

_u gonna be sally for me?_

_Not for all the candy in new new home. Talk to Undyne, she’s a shoe-in._

Oh, man, she totally would, she loved Halloween, and once she saw his costume, she was going to flip the fuck out. He wondered if he could persuade Jeff into being Doctor Finklestein; Stretch knew a ton of people, he could get a loaner motorize chair, he was sure of it.

Stretch took another look in the mirror and sang out, “i, jack! the pumpkin king!”

Yeah, this was going to be so fucking awesome. He ran a hand down the material again, soft and comfortable, and it fit him like at had been made for him which…it probably had.

At some point, maybe even months ago, Edge had gone to a tailor with his measurements and actually ordered this for him. He could picture it; Edge as cool and no-nonsense as he always was, seriously going to a tailor with a picture of Jack Skellington and telling them, yeah, this. And box it up to go.

What he needed to do was take this suit off and hang it up before it got wrinkled, and hide it until Halloween so it didn’t spoil the surprise. Instead, Stretch sat carefully on the sofa, hugging himself and grinning from sheer delight that couldn’t be contained.

He took his phone up one more time and sent _i love u so much_

His phone buzzed a moment later and it was just as well he had this nice suit to hold him together, otherwise he would have melted to the floor.

_We’re simply meant to be_

Stretch sighed and hugged his phone to his chest like the idiot he was, then quickly sent one more text.

_u be santa?_

There was a long pause and then, _we’ll see_

That was totally a yes. Later, he’d go see Undyne and Jeff, see if he could secure his Halloween posse but for now, he was Jack, the Pumpkin King, and he could enjoy it for a few minutes more.

-finis-


	5. Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the known can seem unknown in the fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s try something a little on the creepy side. Just a little. I mean, it IS October.

* * *

The underground had fog, particularly at the borders of Snowdin and Waterfall, a brief moment of swirling mist that left everyone sightless as they journeyed through it. It had been familiar, known, and Stretch had usually bypassed it with a shortcut, going straight to his hot dog stand/sentry stations.

Stretch hadn’t seen fog of the likes of this, a dense white blanket, and the end of their driveway disappeared into it. From the porch, he’d watched it roll in, and it was with fascination that he went out in that velvety whiteness.

He was standing in his own driveway, watching the swirls around his feet, opaque and mysterious, when he heard it.

_papyrus_

Hardly even a sound, more as if it had been whispered into his own skull. He didn’t think. He took a step and followed it.

The fog was so heavy that from the road, he couldn’t see any houses. He wasn’t afraid of getting lost; he knew this road, a straight path to the corner and he could always shortcut back to his own living room. He trailed his hands through the mist almost expecting it to follow like smoke. Instead, it was only cool, damp air.

_papyrus_

Stretch whirled around, in the direction of that low whisper. Was it the direction? He couldn’t be sure, there was too much fog around him, white and dense, it felt like a living thing, his own name twisted in his thoughts and–

“What are you doing out here?”

Edge’s voice, he thought, from behind him but when Stretch turned around, all he could see was a shadowy outline through the blinding grey fog. Not his face, not his hands reaching out, not even the comforting glow of his eye lights.

Soul pounding, Stretch took a faltering step back. He wasn’t afraid of Edge, he’d never be afraid of him, but it didn’t seem like Edge. It seemed like someone else, something other, trying to tempt him further into the mists.

Another step back and he realized he’d gotten turned around in the fog, he didn’t know where he was and couldn’t teleport. Stretch hadn’t summoned an attack in years, but he could feel his magic running hot, the glare of it filling his vision. It was automatic to lift his left hand, to feel power running into it, waiting to be summoned.

That shadowy figured stepped closer, "Love?”

Stretch relaxed, lowering his hand. He knew that voice, he’d know it anywhere. Another step closer and he could see Edge, see his face, the familiar crack in his left socket, the concern in his eye lights. They flicked briefly to his hand, magic still glowing at his fingertips, then back to his own.

Stretch shook his hand out, wincing as the magic sullenly absorbed back. "sorry, i… i thought i heard something.”

“Come inside,” Edge said, holding out a hand.

He reached for it, automatically, his hand inches from Edge’s when he hesitated. He had to know. Had to be sure this wasn’t some changeling, some eldritch creature trying to coax him further into the fog. Instead, Stretch stepped close enough to rest a hand on Edge’s chest, over his soul, and felt its warm, familiar pulse even through his shirt. The way it yearned towards him as if it loved him as much as Edge did or perhaps that was where love gathered, held within the cup of the soul.

Edge didn’t move, only watched him and he made a soft sound when Stretch suddenly leaned down and kissed him, almost desperately, his fingers digging in to the fabric of his shirt where they still rested over his soul. With his other hand, he cupped the back of Edge’s skull, followed smooth bone down to his cervical vertebra and trailed over the sensitive joints, listened as Edge drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, exhaling it in a rush shared between them.

“take me inside,” Stretch whispered, pleading, and Edge took him by the wrist and led him in, leaving the whispers behind in the fog.

-fin


	6. Fold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge usually brought his lunch to work

* * *

Edge generally brought his lunch to work. The cafeteria at the Embassy was the single greatest shame in the Monster community, in his opinion, and while there were a couple of small shops and delis in the area that were very Monster friendly, he had more trust his own cooking, preferring to eat at his desk while he worked.

Besides, on rare occasions, he found unexpected gifts hidden in his lunch bag.

The first one had appeared not long after Stretch had moved in. A carefully folded paper crane, and the wings flapped if you held it properly and pulled gently on the neck. He’d toyed with it all during his lunch, admiring the crisp folds and flapping the little wings. 

It had sat on his desk for a month before being joined by another, this time a cunning little frog that hopped if you tapped its back. 

He had a baker’s dozen of them now, always appearing out of nowhere in his lunch bag, always unexpected. He refused to cheat and look before his lunch hour. They’d moved from his desk to a small shelf on his wall, his crane and its companions, although occasionally the crane found its way back on stressful weeks. 

Today, his lunch hour was looming when he looked up at the door opening to see his husband standing in the doorway.

“thanks, janice,” he called over his shoulder to Edge’s secretary. Stretch gave Edge an easy grin and shut the door, slouching into one of the chairs. 

“What are you doing here?” He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Stretch at the Embassy and still have a finger or two left over. 

“eh, i was on this side of town,” he shrugged. “thought I’d see if you wanted to get lunch.”

The thought warmed him and his brought lunch would be just as good tomorrow. “Of course, let me finish this and…” he trailed off as he saw Stretch was staring over his shoulder. “What?”

“did you seriously keep these?” He stood up and walked over to the shelf, picking up the crane with far less reverence than Edge would. He couldn’t help wincing when Stretch set it back down and it toppled over into the frog.

“Of course I did. You made them for me.”

“well, yeah, but you were supposed to read them.”

“Read them?” Edge repeated blankly and Stretch laughed, flopping back into the chair. 

“yeah, read them! they’re notes! you open them and read them, you dork.”

“Oh.” He looked at his little display. The crane had been given to him only a week after Stretch had moved in. The rest over the course of the year, and Edge was suddenly desperately curious what they said. Except…”If I read them, I’d have to open them.”

“uh, yeah, that’s how it works.”

“I wouldn’t be able to fold them back.” That was a cruel choice. Read what Stretch had written him or forgo it to keep his collection.

“tell you what,” Stretch leaned back in the chair and propped his untied sneakers on the corner of Edge’s desk. “you read them and i’ll refold them for you.”

“Very well.” Edge stood up and retrieved his menagerie. He took a second to slap Stretch’s feet off his desk, ignoring his outraged squawk, and then picked up the crane. Gently, he pulled the neck and watch the wings flap once last time, then carefully unfolded it, gingerly pulling out little paper tabs. Slowly, it revealed its secret in Stretch’s messy handwriting and when it was finally open, Edge leaned back in his chair and began to read.

-finis-


	7. Do Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends always let friends eat treats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my not-so-secret favorite headcanons is that Edge loves to cook. I imagine that he and Red went hungry entirely too often in Underfell and when they came to the surface, having all these ingredients available was like heaven.

* * *

Edge had always loved cooking, even in Underfell where supply lines had been fragile. If nothing else, that had taught him creativity and he could make a decent meal from the most meagre of ingredients. When given the option, he preferred his meals flavorful and healthy; their food converted to magic when it was eaten, and higher quality food produced a great amount. It was an equation even he could manage, and one Rus couldn't argue his way around. 

Healthy, certainly, was better. But one of his secret loves was homemade donuts. 

It was his own recipe that he'd been tweaking since they came to the surface. A dense, cakey donut, crisply fried and liberally sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. He preferred to twist them rather than the traditional rounds with a hole, the crevasses better for holding on to the sugar. A little time consuming to prepare but well worth the effort. 

With the temperatures dropping, today at seemed like a perfect day to make them. With only a little effort he had the dough prepared and was making the twists while the oil heated. He was hardly half finished when he heard the familiar pop of teleportation behind him. Not too surprising, Stretch could smell a donut cooking before the flour had hit the bowl. With a sigh, he turned around.

To find his husband, his brother, Jeff, and Antwan lurking behind him, surrounding the table.

That was exactly three more people than he’d been expecting and four more than he needed. A little doubtfully, Edge said to the group, “Hello?”

"heya, babe,” Stretch said cheerfully. 

“Can I help you?” It was a little disconcerting to have them all staring at him like ravenous hyenas. It gave him the feeling that if he moved too quickly, he might well lose a limb. 

“Heard you were making donuts,” Antwan said lightly. Edge imagined he used that very same voice in court when he questioned Humans about their unfair business practices towards Monsters.

“Yes,” he agreed cautiously. “How did you know—“

“enough chit chat,” Red broke in. “make with the donuts!”

Edge raised a brow bone, unimpressed with his brother's rudeness. “And if I don’t feel like it?”

Three distraught looks were sent his way, coupled with winces from Red as he was simultaneously hit and kicked from several sources.

"pleeeeeeease?” Stretch begged. “they’re so good when they are still warm, we love your donuts, we love you—“

“Can I stick with loving the donuts and strong feelings of friendship for Edge?” Antwan asked dryly.

“quit being a bitch and love your friends,” Red told him. He managed to contort his face into some approximation of pleading. “c’mon, bro, don’t play us that way!”

“I haven’t tried the donuts, can I withhold my affections until then?” Jeff asked, then yelped as the kicks and smacks were redirected to him.

“no!” Stretch hissed. “love me, love my husband's donuts!”

Edge raised his voice over the rising squabble. “If I make them, do you all promise to shut up and leave my kitchen?”

Four heads nodded so vigorously it was like being surrounded by a troop of bobble heads. With a sigh, Edge turned back to the dough and began shaping them again. He paused as a furiously whispered debate started behind him.

“I will decide who gets the first one," he added loudly.

With a liquid burble he dropped the first one in the hot oil, watching as the pale dough turned golden, and made a mental bet with himself over who was going to whine the loudest, because this first donut was his. 

-finis-


	8. Carved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone likes carving jack-o-lanterns, right?

* * *

"so, what do you think of my jack-o-lantern?”

Edge glanced up from his own pumpkin to look at the one Stretch was standing proudly over, his hands extended in a gesture that would have done Vanna White proud. “I think you owe it an apology.”

Stretch huffed in annoyance, “well, thanks, mister art critic.”

Edge shrugged, unbothered. “Do you want me to lie? I could.”

“you’re supposed to lie before you tell the truth, not after,” Stretch told him sulkily. His shirt, one that declared proudly that he was a ‘spooky scary skeleton’, had strands of pumpkin goo and seeds clinging to it.

“Well, then. Were the uneven eyes an aesthetic choice or does that actually represent a Monster you know?” From Stretch’s souring expression, he was digging himself a hole that he was going to have a difficult time getting back out of, but _honestly_.

“the pumpkin was uneven,” Stretch muttered, poking at it grumpily. Obligingly, it rocked at the touch, wobbling before settling back.

“You can’t blame mother nature for your depth perception,” Edge tried to lighten it with a smile, tapping his cracked socket with a finger. “How is it that you’re the one with that issue in this relationship?”

Instead of laughing, Stretch looked stricken, the exact opposite that Edge had been going for, “that’s not funny!”

“I think it is, but my humor is questionable,” Edge sighed. He went for a different tact, “Really, though, that’s what you get for using inferior tools.”

Stretch held up one of the ridiculous tools he’d gotten, one of several that had come in a colorful package advertising ‘safety first carving!’. Short, flimsy metal with a purple plastic handle, the very picture of ridiculous. “are you kidding? these are seriously cool,” he stuck his tongue out at Edge, surely a sign that he wasn’t going to hold a grudge. “sorry, guess i should have asked your brother to loan me a switchblade.”

Or maybe not. “Don't be ridiculous, that isn't a precision tool.” He held up the x-acto knife he’d been using. “Better tools, better pumpkin.”

“if you’d just let me carve what i wanted on it—”

There was an argument they weren’t going to have again. “I actually would like it if parents would allow trick or treaters to come to our doors, and I doubt they would appreciate your efforts to enhance their education of human anatomy.”

“hey, more candy for me,” Stretch said cheerily. He craned his head, trying to look at the other side of the table. “aren’t you done with yours yet?”

“Nearly.”

“come onnnnnnn,” Stretch whined. “let me see, let me see!”

Edge ignored him, making a few last adjustments before stepping back. “There.”

Eagerly, Stretch scampered around the table, skittering to a halt as he stared at Edge’s pumpkin. “well, okay, martha stewart, nice one there.”

Edge bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stretch held up both his hands, smiling sweetly, "not a thing! how’d you get the flowers to stick, anyway?"

“It’s simple, you hot glue them to toothpicks and—"

“yeah, great,” Stretch interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m not sure you’ve gotten into the spirit of this the right way, but that’s all right, honey homemaker.” He slanted Edge a look, his grin widening, “you’d look good in one of those frilly aprons, babe, that’s all i’m saying.”

“If you want to discuss roleplay, you need to put it in writing,” Edge told him smoothly, “If you’re too embarrassed to read a proposal, you’re too embarrassed to try it.”

“babe, that is not a door you want to open, unless you want a to hear a four-hour speech this weekend about the joys of high heels." 

“Mmhmm,” Edge shook his head. “Well, as enjoyable as this has been, I’d like to start dinner without this mess laying around.” He'd put down a plastic tablecloth and plenty of newspaper, so his kitchen had escaped the worst of the carnage. Stretch, however, was coated in goo up to his elbows; even his rolled-up sleeves were damp with it. “Why don't you take a shower and rinse off all your…innards while I clean up in here.”

“boring,” Stretch said, singsong. “why don't you come with me, instead?”

Edge arched a brow bone at him, gesturing down at his own pristine shirt. “Unlike you, I managed to stay clean through the process. Go on, now.”

He should have known better than to think it was over. Before he could do anything more than turn around, two wet hands slipped around him from behind, smearing stickiness down his shirt and arms.

Against the back of his skull, Stretch said, smugly, “how about now?”

Edge grimaced in disgust. “If this is an attempt to seduce me, your plan has flaws.”

Only to shiver as his tongue, silky wet, tracing down his vertebra like the steps on a ladder and Stretch whispered in a lower, husky voice, a soft vibration against bone, "you think so?”

Oh, it was tempting, too tempting to simply give in, to let Stretch win. Resisting took all his control, but Edge broke his hold and grappled him down to the table, directly into the slimy pile of pumpkin guts. Even he had to give Stretch credit for creativity in swearing then, words that Edge hadn’t even known existed, much less that they could be combined in such a vulgar way.

“That was impressive, but you know as well as I do that we never had a mother,” Edge kept his weight on Stretch, holding him down even as the table rocked threateningly. “If we’re going to shower together, we may as well be as messy as possible, right?”

Edge sputtered as a handful of orange goo was smeared directly across his face, the slimy strands dripping down onto Stretch’s already liberally decorated shirt. “like that?” Stretch asked sweetly.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Edge told him regretfully, scooping up his own handful. Stretch’s shout of laughing protest echoed around the room and in the end, his kitchen didn’t escape the damage after all. But the hour it took to scrape pumpkin guts off his cupboards was a price worth paying.

 

-finis-


	9. Chick or Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This all started because Edge wanted to get his lover a pet. He wasn’t sure when it became a barometer for their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another chicken story. I can’t help it, they’re cute!

* * *

Janice had been Edge’s secretary for a few years now. According to Sans, she was the cousin of the former shopkeeper in Snowdin, a member of the abundant Bun family line. Not the Edge knew much about that. He preferred a strictly business relationship with most of his coworkers and she had always been fine with that. Yet somehow, over the course of the years, a certain familiarity came.

For one, Edge knew her birthday and always got her a card and a floral arrangement. Snowdin had been low on plant life of any kind and here on the surface, Janice always had flowers of some sort on her desk. He knew she had two children by the pictures on her desk, one of whom had attended Stretch’s skeleton face painting event and who had been so sad that they couldn’t paint his fur that Stretch had made him a skeleton mask instead out of a paper plate.

For her part, Janice knew that by eleven am, he was always craving a cup of coffee, and she always brought him one, made not from the coffee in the break room but the grounds he brought in from the Beanery.

“Thank you,” Edge told her that morning, as he always did. In three years, he hadn’t forgotten once.

“You’re welcome,” she replied easily. In a rare break in form, she didn’t reach immediately for the papers in his outbox and instead added, “I have to ask, how are the chickens doing?”

Edge paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He didn't recall ever mentioning the chickens to her. “How do you know about those?”

Janice laughed softly and made a shooing sort of gesture at him. “Your husband's Instagram, of course! The costumes this week are adorable, does he make them himself?”

As warming as it was to hear her refer to Stretch as his husband, it was the rest of her comment that had warning bells going off in his mind. “Costumes,” Edge repeated, slowly.

Janice’s smile faltered, her ears drooping, and that was the expression of someone who thought maybe they had said too much. A little weakly, she said, "Well, um, yes? I mean, it’s very cute and--”

He held up a hand. “Say no more. There is very little that Stretch could do that would truly surprise me.”

Janice still looked uncomfortable, wringing her hands a bit. “I just assumed you knew. Do you really not follow his Instagram?” She asked it neutrally enough, but that was a judging look if he’d ever seen one.

Wonderful. Janice was an excellent secretary but as a Bun, she had a half dozen other relatives working here. By tomorrow, he was sure that gossip around the Embassy would be flying with rumors that their new marriage was already on the rocks. 

“I follow him on twitter,” Edge said defensively. Sometimes he even read it.

“Of course,” she said crisply, and started gathering the papers from his outbox.

“Oh for…” Edge sighed. “All right. Let me look.”

Janice hesitated, glancing at the door indecisively, and Edge wondered if she was going to flee and they’d return to their proper, businesslike relationship. Instead, she waited, skirting his desk to look at the screen while Edge pulled up Instagram in his browser. Stretch’s was easy to find, and with the very first picture, Edge understood exactly what Janice meant.

“All right, I'm surprised,” Edge admitted. Stretch was sitting behind his little brood of chickens, wearing a cheap, crooked halo of wire and a t-shirt with angel wings on the back, and there was Nugget, wearing a little red coat with devil horns on the hood. Dumpling had a witch’s hat and a little broom was affixed to her small shirt, and there was Noodle, peering out amicable through the very wide eye holes of white cloth draped over her in the approximation of a ghost. There were a half dozen more pictures of them in the backyard and coop, pecking around in their little costumes or perching on Stretch’s legs while he beamed at the camera.

“See? Isn’t it adorable,” Janice burst out happily, as if she was unable to contain it any longer.

“It is,” Edge agreed, softly. Almost absently, he reached out. He didn’t quite touch the screen, his fingertips hovering over Stretch’s grinning picture, before he caught himself and drew back. Too late; Janice was looking at him now in a way she never had before, a sort of dawning awareness that he was quite sure their business relationship could have done without.

He cleared his throat. “Right then, do we have any meetings this afternoon?”

“Just one,” Janice said, a touch slowly. She shook herself visibly and straightened up. “Yes, well, I’ll get these papers sorted, then.”

“ Janice,” Edge said, and she stopped at the door, giving him a questioning look. “The chickens are fine. Stretch is very fond of them.”

“I can see that,” she said, warmly, and her smile was cheery as she left his office.

There were plenty of papers left in his inbox and a meeting this afternoon he had to prepare for. Instead, Edge took a sip of his coffee and scrolled down the page to see what other pictures might surprise him.

 

-finis-


	10. Spoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days, there aren’t enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE READ.** This drabble contain depictions of depression. Please, don’t read this if its going to upset or trigger you in any way. Your depression isn’t mine, and while I find writing these cathartic, YMMV.

* * *

Stretch woke up and he could feel it was going to be a bad day.

It felt like that familiar grayness was blanketing him; it wasn't tired, not exactly, it was something else, something worse, that kept him from life. Like there was thin wall between him and the real world, that layer of grayness that kept him sitting in neutral when all he wanted was to go forward.

No. It wasn't fair, he was talking to the fucking shrink, he was taking the stars-damned medicine. He was married to the most wonderful person in the world, why wasn't he allowed to just be fucking _happy_?

Before he knew it, he was crying, helplessly, ugly sobs because he didn't want this, not today, and even that felt numb, felt wrong. It wasn't fair, it wasn't--

"Love?" 

Stretch jerked, startled, his cheekbones wet and chilly, to see Edge standing in the doorway, still dressed for his morning run. He came in and sat on the side of the bed, one hand hovering over Stretch's shoulder. "What do you need?"

He could only shake his head, buried his cold face back into the blankets. He didn't need anything, nothing should be wrong; he should be happy, he was _supposed_ to be happy. Instead he was going to lay here in their bed because even getting up seemed to be too much. He’d read a theory on the internet once that had referred to energy as having a limited amount of spoons and right in this moment, he felt like he was clinging to his tiny collection of them with both hands. 

Edge didn’t move from the side of the bed. Not touching, not asking any other questions, not even stripping off his running clothes even though Stretch could smell the sharpness of his sweat, which, fucking hell. Edge _hated_ to be dirty, it was probably driving him nuts, which sucked because Stretch was supposed to be the crazy one. As an added bonus, he was supposed to be at work, Stretch knew that, and he was bitterly grateful he'd stayed, bitterly, because he should be able to tell Edge that everything was all right and he could go.

And he couldn’t.

"i'm sorry," he managed to croak out, muffled into the damp blankets.

Edge sighed and there was the warm pressure of his hand against Stretch’s shoulder. "Why are you so hard on yourself?" he asked, so terribly gentle. "You're going to have bad days. We both know it. It just is, love, and it's not your fault, not any more than it would be if you caught a cold."

That hand squeezed, gently. “Now, if you don’t want me in the room, I’ll go downstairs, but I’m staying home today. You just started taking your prescriptions, I’d like to be sure this isn’t a reaction to them. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Stretch barely shook his head but he knew Edge saw it.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

He didn't know. It should be an easy choice, he should be able to simply say yes or no, but even that seemed like too much. Yes meant he was encouraging Edge to miss work and no...no meant he'd be alone. A simple choice and he didn't want to make it. 

"It's all right," Edge's voice broke softly through his looping thoughts. "You don't have to say anything." 

Tears sprung up again, burning hot, and Stretch squeezed his sockets tightly shut, trying to stifle them. It took every ounce of effort he had to crawl over enough to half-lay in Edge’s lap but the moment he did, hands were on him, soft gloves stroking his skull and wiping away the dampness on his cheekbones. 

It didn’t help, exactly, but it made him feel like he wasn’t the only person holding the spoons. Stretch let out a watery sigh, curling up against him, and let Edge take a little of their weight. 

-finis-


	11. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a fact. Being sick sucks.

Getting sick at any time sucked on many levels, but when it happened on movie night, well, that was proof of the unfairness of the universe.

At least once a month, so long as they were in New New Home, all the skeleton brothers got together for movie night. It had started as a halting sort of way to get to know each other when they’d literally fallen into this ‘verse and it had become a tradition that involved a lot of arguing, bad puns, and often popcorn being thrown at each other if not at the television. Stretch loved it. 

And this month he was missing it, which was particularly disappointing since tonight was his turn to choose the movie and he’d been looking forward to an impromptu competition with Sans and Red on quoting lines from the Princess Bride.

It was only a small consolation that Papyrus had told them Sans had a cold as well. All they had to do was infect Red and there would be solidarity with the low HP kind. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Red was in a fucking bunker to keep them away. 

Twitter was his only companion now, although Jeff had offered to come over and keep him company. Human and Monster illnesses weren’t compatible that anyone knew of, but Stretch didn’t much feel like the company.

Plus a Monster cold was just like a human one in terms of disgusting drippage; it was bad enough Edge had to see him. 

Nothing like feeling sexy in front of the bae, he thought sourly. 

So that left him laying on the sofa, his loyalist friend, amidst piles of used tissues, several water glasses in various stages of filled, and a depleted jar of Vick’s vapor rub that he’d tried in desperation and discovered it actually worked pretty well on his congestion. He wished they’d had that shit underground. 

Nothing less than Edge coming from the kitchen with an offering was enough to get him to sit up, and even then he did it with a lot of groans. He accepted both the sympathetic look and the mug of chicken noodle soup that Edge gave him as his due, mumbling an approximation of thank you. 

“chicken soup for the soul is a lot more literal for monsters,” Stretch rasped out.

“Don’t worry, it’s no one you knew.” 

He froze with the mug halfway to his mouth. “you know, normally i appreciate your dark humor but today…” he grinned, despite his pains, “nah, i still appreciate it. i’m sorry i ever insinuated you’d eat my chickens, all right? asshole.” 

Edge gave him a faint smile. “Your apologies could use work, but maybe when you’re feeling better. Poor thing.” 

He reached out to rest a hand in Stretch’s skull and Stretch groaned and shoved him away. “don’t touch me, i’m hot and gross.” 

“You are both,” Edge agreed, and wow, thanks, feeling that love. “Can I get you a cold washcloth or an ice pack?” 

Okay, that was better. Stretch looked up at him, trying to project the pureness of his misery. “please?” 

“Drink your soup,” Edge told him and went back to the kitchen. 

He came back with a wet cloth to find Stretch drowsing, his half-empty mug on the table and he spent a few minutes clearing away some of the dishes and mess on the coffee table before gently tugging the blanket up over Stretch, cautious not to wake him. 

Had he been awake, he likely would have had a few words for Edge when he Checked him. As it was, he barely stirred, didn’t catch a glimpse of Edge’s relief when he found his HP holding steady. 

Instead, he only sighed as Edge gently pressed the inside of his wrist to his forehead, testingly, then settled the cold cloth there. He returned to the kitchen to let him sleep, keeping the pot of soup on slow simmer at the back of the stove for when Stretch hopefully asked for more. 

Another day, maybe two, and he’d be on the mend. Until then, Edge would watch over him.

 

-fin


	12. Homemade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Underfell had taught Edge something about hunger from a young age and cooking was never as simple as putting a pie in an oven.

* * *

Edge knew hunger. Underfell had taught him that lesson at a very young age and he’d retained it as less of a memory and more of a scar, one that itched from time to time and never quite faded.

He remembered scrounging through the garbage dump and the trash cans in New Home, searching for scraps of anything edible, anything that could be choked down and even defending those shreds of refuse from other scavengers. He remembered trying to sleep next to his brother beneath a thin blanket with an aching void still inside him, dreaming of the kind of perfect food he’d never had in reality.

When he’d gotten a little older, a little stronger, and more able to help provide for his meagre family of two, he’d sworn to himself he was never going to eat food that he hated again. It turned out to be a good thing that he didn’t give promises the same weight that the Sanses or Stretch did, because it was one he’d broken more than once when the supply lines to Snowdin had weakened or broken, and they’d grimly consumed whatever they could to keep their magic up. Gnawing on half-rotten fruit or stale bread verging on mold had brought him back to the misery of his childhood, no matter his age.

He’d made himself that same promise once again, when they’d come to the surface in this universe, and this time it was one Edge had kept.

Cooking had been a necessity in Underfell and a pleasure, but also a way to guarantee that while dinner might be burnt or unpalatable, at least it was _his_.

Sans, his brother of sarcasm and brutal insults, had never criticized his first stumbling efforts, and while there were few ways of showing affection in Underfell, a tasty dinner had always meant more between them than simply food on a plate. It meant he was keeping his brother healthy and alive. It meant safety, no matter how brief.

Edge didn’t think of Underfell often but occasionally, in his well-appointed kitchen, filled with all the ingredients anyone could ever need, he remembered.

He was rolling out pie dough when he heard the door open behind him, Stretch wandering in and peering over his shoulder. He smelled like the outdoors and faintly of cigarettes. 

“pie?” Stretch asked, curiously. 

“Yes,” Edge agreed. “I thought it would be nice for dessert.” The crust was coming together nicely, and it be would flakey and tender, a perfect complement to the sweet filling. 

Stretch rocked on his feet, hands in his pockets. “can i help?”

Well, that was new. Edge hesitated, giving him a look, but Stretch only looked interested, not as if anything was wrong. “of course, if you like, can you peel the apples?"

It turned out he could, a little clumsily and imperfect, but he managed. The chunks were a bit uneven, but they would work well enough and Edge told him what to mix in with them, sugar and spices with a pinch of flour, filling the kitchen with their comforting aroma. 

He let Stretch cut out pie dough, showed him how to interlace strips of it over the apples layered inside, and how to crimp the edges of the crust, demonstrating on his own. In the end, they had two pies sitting side by side, waiting for the oven.

His own was perfection, sitting next to Stretch’s effort. His finished product was a little lopsided, the lattice laid out with ruler perfect precision but the strips of dough themselves were uneven, cut too narrow in some places and too thick in others, and the crimping was ragged.

Stretch looked at it unhappily, toying with the edge and trying to straighten the uneven dough before Edge took it away.

“It’s important to remember that the point isn’t in perfection.” Edge slid the pies into the oven. “Homemade tastes better than anything from a store because you made it.”

Stretch’s grin was as lopsided as his pie. “sappy.”

“True,” Edge countered. He set the timer and then turned to his husband, taking his hands in both of his. “I never lie to you, I only say what I feel is true.” The pies would need at least an hour to bake, and by the end, that warm, spicy smell would fill the house. “You should give that one to your brother.”

Stretch shook his head, drawing his hands away to fidget instead with his lighter. “blue is a good cook, he doesn’t need my frankenpie.”

The temptation was there to look away, to push memory aside and Edge resisted it, meeting Stretch’s eye lights with his own. “There is nothing he could make that he’d love more than that pie from you.”

“you think so?” Stretch seemed hesitant, searching Edge’s face for…well. Stretch always saw more than he should. Edge turned away, busying himself with the dishes.

“I do. If you like, we can take it over when its finished and visit for a little while before dinner.”

“great, i can sneak in a nap then,” Stretch pressed a clacking kiss to Edge’s cheekbone and breezed back out the kitchen door, leaving him with the cleanup. He didn’t really mind; washing dishes and putting them away was satisfying for him; there was pleasure in order as well.

As he washed, the smell of baking pie rose up, spicy and warm, and he inhaled it deeply, closing his sockets and pushing aside memory. He was here and that was enough. 

-finis-


	13. Dressed for Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

* * *

Edge was sitting at his desk, working through a last bit of paperwork when Stretch came tromping downstairs, bundled up against the autumn chill.

“And where are you going dressed like that?”

“there's an open-air concert downtown at the park!” Stretch said excitedly. “jeff and i were going to head down.” He wrapped his arms around Edge from behind, nuzzling ticklishly at his cervical vertebrae, before moving enough to let Edge push his chair back. “figured since you'd rather sit in a room of chalkboards with Freddy Kruger than listen to modern music, we'd solo it.”

“Let me rephrase, where do you think you’re going _dressed_ like that?” Edge asked, amused.

He was, frankly, adorable, although if he told Stretch that he’d get a dirty look. Jeans instead of his normal track pants, Edge’s jeans to be more specific and while he would have cuffed them, on Stretch they went down to the top of his boots...which were also obviously Edge's by color alone, bright red and laces dragging. His knit cap was grey with red trim, his scarf matching, and from looking at him, Edge could decisively say that the only thing he was wearing that was his own was his sweatshirt. 

He was also wearing his silicon ring, the rainbow of colors bright against white bone and Edge resisted the urge press a kiss against it. 

Stretch stepped back and posed as though at the end of a runway. “you don’t like?”

“Hold on," Edge hooked his fingertips into Stretch’s waistband and pulled him in, leaning down to tie the boots with a firm double knot. He straightened the knit hat and rewound the scarf around his neck so that it draped properly, tucking it into his collar so he’d be able to draw up his hood if he got cold. 

“gee, thanks, mom," Stretch rolled his eye lights, then laughed softly when Edge tugged him down by the scarf, catching his mouth in a gentle kiss.

Edge kept his grip on the scarf, holding him in, and told him, “I would have come if you'd asked.”

“i know, and i love you for it, but you wouldn't have liked it,” Stretch reached up and smoothed his thumb over Edge’s cheekbone, gentle against the crack that cut through it. Then he tugged the scarf free and stepped back. “andy and i got this. later!”

With a last wave, he was out the door. The house was quieter without him, less vibrant, less _alive_ , but it was all right. It would be filled again when he came home. 

 

-finis-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thesinbubble did a _gorgeous_ piece of art for this: [please look at it and love it](https://keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/185067078632/thesinbubble-the-first-was-a-general-spicyhoney)


	14. Hangups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothing issues are Edge’s purview. Stretch just lives here.

* * *

Something that Edge had had in his home that Stretch never did before moving had been a walk-in closet. It was pretty damn big, with lots of places to hang stuff, shoe and tie racks, the works, and Stretch used…ehhh…maybe a 10th of it. Maybe. 

Not that Edge hadn’t been willing to give him a fair share when he’d moved in, he simply didn’t need it. His clothing collection was pretty simple and if he didn’t own what he needed to wear, then Edge sure as shit did and he’d play borrowsies. It worked out. 

Also, Stretch wasn’t sure how Edge would have managed to squeeze out any extra room for him anyway in the depths of clothing bags and special hangers and shit. He’d told Edge once he should put an addition on the house for it all since he had enough suits to count as a roommate, and Edge had rewarded his cheekiness by pinning him down and…well…

It was a fond memory, that’s all. 

This morning when Stretch had wandered into it, still drowsy and rubbing at his sockets, he paused to see a change in his tiny sector of the closet. 

In the middle of it all, hanging innocently, were two new hoodies.

Well, that was a hint if he’d ever seen one.

He wasn’t too surprised. He already knew Edge handled his sock issues. Bony toes had a way of rubbing holes into socks faster than fleshy ones, he’d learned, and more than once he’d come downstairs to find his honey homemaker sitting with a basket, darning them, and never mind that they could easily just buy more damn socks.

Not a big deal, they both had their coping mechanisms and if Edge thought sewing up socks was comforting, he was welcome to them. Hell, he could sew them all together and fly them like a flag from their gutters for all Stretch cared. 

So, he was used to Edge handling his clothing problems. Hoodies were different, though, Stretch loved his hoodies, he tended to live in them. Hoodies were fucking great; you could snuggle in deep even in the worst snowstorms, keep toasty warm in-between shortcuts. Pullovers, no zippers, he didn’t like the metal tabs, didn’t like the way it split the pocket into two little ones rather than one roomy enough for his cigarettes, his lighter, and his hands. Sanses with their little paws might get away with that but Stretch needed his space. 

Yeah, he loved his hoodies and one of his favorites had gotten a ragged hole in the elbow a couple of days ago. Not something easy to repair and it let in an annoying patch of cold through the leak. That hoodie was still hanging with the rest of them, no one had tried to sneak it out and into the trash. It was there, if he wanted to wear it. 

The new hoodies were already washed, he could smell the detergent. Slowly, he pulled one off the hanger and slipped it on. Closed his sockets. It was heavy, not quite soft enough. Not worn in.

Somewhere at the very back of his closet, folded and hidden beneath destination T-shirt’s and summer shorts was a very old hoodie worn practically to rags, one from Underswap. He had so little left from home. His brother, a hoodie, a lighter. So very little.

He looked in the mirror, smoothing his hands down the soft knit fabric. This was home, he reminded himself. This was home, with Edge.

He pasted on a cheesy grin and took a selfie. _how do i look?_

 _Like yourself._ came quickly back and Stretch grinned. That was his baby, the flattery expert. 

His phone buzzed again. _Are you okay?_

Stretch closed his sockets and took a shaky breath. Yeah, that was his baby, all right.

Texts weren’t great with nuances, but he gave it a shot. _it’s fine._

It was. It would be. 

His phone didn’t buzz again so Edge must’ve accepted that. He stuck his phone into the roomy pocket, along with his cigarettes, his lighter, and his hands, wandering downstairs to lie on the sofa and break it in. 

 

-finis-


End file.
